


Robbed

by pook



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Tearjerker, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pook/pseuds/pook





	Robbed

Robbed  
By Pook  
Pairing: Grace/Boyd  
Rating: T  
Summary: Set anytime after season 6. ****Major Kleenex warning****  
Author’s notes: Special thanks to shadowsamurai83 for the beta   
Disclaimer: Waking the Dead belongs to the BBC. I’ve taken them out for a bit and promise to put them back when I’m done.

~~~

"Grace, I'm going to need to fill up." A quarter of tank wasn't going to be enough to return to CCHQ in London, and he, and more importantly his back, needed a break and a stretch as sitting for a long time wasn't good for his back. 

 

"Er? Sorry?" Disorientated, Grace looked around. She'd been staring out of the window as the country side zipped by, not exactly nodding off but in a world of her own. 

 

"Sorry to wake you, but I need to fill up.” Boyd smiled.

 

"Right." Grace let his gentle jibe pass. 

 

Boyd and Grace were on their way back from Exeter. They’d been talking to the still-grieving parents about the review of the still unsolved brutal rape and murder of their daughter. Understandably, the parents had moved out of London, to get away from all the memories, as their daughter had been found in waste ground, only five minute's walk from their old home. Both Grace and Boyd dreaded these reviews - the unbelievable grief of those left behind was always very hard to take. 

 

At the next exit, Boyd pulled into the service station at the end of the lay-by. 

 

Boyd stretched his aching back as he filled the car up with petrol, while Grace put the empty old coffee cups and sweet wrappers into the bin. 

 

"Could you pay?"

 

Grace nodded. "Do you want a tea or coffee?"

 

"Coffee, please."

 

"Anything else?"

 

"Indulge me." 

 

"All the time," Grace muttered with a smirk. Apart from the visit to the family, she'd enjoyed the drive alone with Boyd, listening to music and talking. It was rare to see Boyd relax while on the job. When they'd had a case on, usually he'd always be anxious, almost manic, until the case had been solved.

 

Acknowledging her quip with a trademark smile, he replied, "You wouldn't have it any other way." Boyd veered left as they entered the store, heading toward the toilet.

 

No, she wouldn't, Grace thought happily.

 

After selecting a range of chocolate bars, Grace waited at the counter as the operator made their coffees. 

 

A dark blue Subaru screeched to a halt near the door and three young men raced out, balaclavas pulled down to cover their faces and all brandishing handguns.

 

"Hands up!" the biggest man, Dave yelled, staying by the door.

 

The other two raced to the counter, immediately pointing their weapons at Grace and the operator.

 

With a hand gun just a yard from her face, Grace stood motionless, shocked. Where was Boyd? He was still in the toilet and then she glanced at the console operator, his face white with fear, and realsied he must've been frightened out of his wits just as much as she was. 

 

Stepping even closer and deliberating aiming the gun right between her eyes, Mike showed Grace who was boss. "Don't fucking look at him!"

 

Taking a few step backwards until she was stopped by a magazine rack, Grace tried to calm the man down, softening her tone and lowering her eyes to be as non-threatening as possible. "All right. Just don't hurt us."

 

Throwing a hold-all across the counter, Jim barked at the till operator, "Fill it up!"

 

Pushing the toilet door open, Boyd walked through but froze mid step. All he could see was Grace and the hand gun pointed directly at her. 

 

Dave spun around on hearing the door open, took a step toward the Boyd and viciously cracked him in the head. 

 

Boyd never knew what hit him.

 

Satisfied, he watched as the man drop to his knees, blood already oozing from the wound, matting his grey hair.

 

Hearing a bone shattering sound, Mike spun around. "Shit!"

 

Panting and excited, Dave stood over Boyd, his gun pointing at Boyd's head, his left hand gripped the barrel even tighter and a finger tightened around the trigger. Adrenalin surged through his system. All he saw danger. 

 

"Please, no!" Grace pleaded but didn't moving an inch. It was the only thing she could do to stop Dave from shooting Peter. 

 

"Fuck!" Jim yelled. This was going up shit creek fast! 

 

On his hands and knees and with warm sticky blood dripping down the back of his ear and onto the floor, Boyd groaned, his eyes refused to focus but thankfully the nausea passed quickly. Where was Grace? Needing to protect her, he tried to get up but his arms and legs refused to cooperate. 

 

Dave grabbed Boyd by the collar and unceremoniously dragged him over to where Grace was standing. Two old biddies should be easy enough to control now, he thought, especially after he’d cracked the old guy one. They’d behave themselves or else.

 

After several deep breaths, Peter struggled to his feet, wavering as the room continued to spin, using the rack to steady himself. Loosing count of how many times he'd been hit in the head during his career, he knew he was getting to old for this. Shaking his head, Boyd focused on the one that had hit him, but he couldn't see much through the balaclava except that his attacker was white, powerfully built and around 6 feet tall. 

 

Looking at the man’s eyes, fear seeped into Boyd, realising just how excited and on edge Dave was. It was the feral look that told Boyd that he was on drugs. This wasn't an old style gang that just used the threat of violence to get what they wanted. These guys weren't professional criminals but they were far more dangerous and unpredictable, almost looking for any excuse to hurt someone. 

 

"Hurry the fuck up!" Dave got them moving. They had about five minutes to do the job and get the hell out of there.

 

Mike waved the gun at the hold all. "You heard him!"

 

The console operator returned to fill up the bag with all the cash in the till. 

 

Peter found Grace's hand, returning his reassuring squeeze, letting him know she was all right. 

 

Mike leaned over the counter and saw the till had been emptied. "Zip it up!" 

 

Grabbing the bag, Mike stopped in front of the couple. By the look of their snappy clothes and the Audi that was parked by a pump, he reckoned they'd be loaded. It wasn't in the plan but what the fuck, if it got them more money, he’d take it. They looked like they could afford it.

 

"Hand over your wallet and purse."

 

Grace moved first. "All right." She opened her handbag and took her purse out, giving it to Mike. It would be a hassle to replace all the cards but it wasn't worth resisting and getting hurt.

 

Boyd followed suit, slowly reaching to his back pocket and getting out his wallet. He’d be in trouble if they opened his wallet and saw his Met business card was prominently on display. 

 

Mike opened the wallet up and whistled, flicking through ten fifty pound notes. Looking for the credit card, Mike found Boyd’s business card instead, and then his face soured, instantly becoming enraged. "He's a fucking pig!" They all had friends stitched up and doing time inside. It was revenge time. Mike pointed the gun right between Boyd's eyes. "Let's do him!"

 

Grace stopped breathing. This couldn't be happening. Boyd! Her mind screamed. Please don't do anything stupid.

 

Boyd straightened up but kept quiet. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to beg for his life.

 

Dave just nodded with agreement, hating the police as much as Mike, and if his mate wanted to do a cop, good on him. "Make it quick."

 

Tears welled in Grace's eyes. Mike was going to shoot Boyd. She knew it. And Boyd knew it. They all knew it.

 

Resigned to his fate, Boyd didn't want to see Grace hurt. He could only imagine what it would be like for Grace, knowing that she'd been forced to watch. He stepped a pace away from Grace, making sure she wouldn't be hit. "Do what you want to me but please don't hurt her. She's not police." 

 

Mike looked at the man's wife; she was on the verge of tears but he didn't care. She shouldn’t have married a cop. It was all their own fault. "You can watch your husband die." Remembering all the policemen that had put them away or just pissed them off for no reason, he calmly pulled the trigger. 

 

In disbelief, Boyd looked down at his shirt, wondering where he'd been hit as he felt nothing and then why he hadn't been thrown over the rack of magazines. So much for the movies, he thought stupidly. All this happened in a fraction of a second and in the next moment, Boyd's brain finally registered the growing blood stain on his shirt meant that he'd been really shot as he felt dizzy, his knees crumpled, and then he slumped to the floor. Shock set in and he started to shake all over just as the most excruciating, agonizing pain engulfed him. It was so intense that it practically paralysed him and he could hardly breathe.

 

"Peter!" Grace spun around, collapsing down next to him, watching in horror as the scarlet patch on Boyd's shirt grew and grew. Panic gripped her completely and she screamed and screamed. She couldn't stop.

 

"Shit!" Jim had been rifling through Grace's handbag, looking for more cash, but stopped when he found her ID card. "She's a police shrink."

 

A shrink! Dave thought. Fucking doctors had ruined his life. For him, that was more than enough of a reason to shoot her as well and so he fired. Leaning over her gasping body, Dave spat on her before yelling, "Bitch!" 

 

All three ran out of the door and escaped in the getaway car.

 

***

 

DSI Penrith parked his car in the only room left in the service station as the two area cars, an ambulance, a SOCO van, his DI's car and his DS's car filled most of the available space. Ducking under the ‘Police – do not cross’ tape, he smelt vomit and surmised it must have belonged to the till operator, who looked deathly pale from shock, wrapped in a blanket, as his DS questioning him.

 

DI Axelman walked toward him. "Sir."

 

"What have we got?"

 

"Three IC1s, all armed with handguns, threatened the till operator, Harry Wilson, who handed over the money without doing anything stupid. Mr Wilson said that as they were leaving, one of the men ordered couple from the Audi, the only customers at the time, to hand over their wallet and purse. They did as they were told and then it went all pear shaped." 

 

Stepping around the pile of vomit, Axelman ushered Penrith into the store and then consulted his notes to make sure he got it right. "Mr Wilson said they'd shot them because they were police. He said they'd been cooperating but they still shot them."

 

Penrith ran his hand over his face and then looked out the window. "The Audi?"

 

"Not local." Axelman swallowed hard, it was going to be difficult to say the rest. "Registered owner was Peter Boyd, from Greenwich, London. He was a DSI in the Met." Pointing to the abandoned handbag and then the other body, the DI added, "An ID swipe card says that's Dr. Grace Foley, same address as Boyd's." 

 

Penrith looked at the bloody scene before him. 

 

Boyd was lying on his side, surrounded by pool of blood, his white shirt covered in now dried blood, his shirt torn and blackened where the bullet had entered the centre of his chest. A trickle of foamy blood had run from his lips and down his chin and cheek. Dr Foley also was lying on her side, directly opposite and facing Boyd, three feet apart, but she'd been shot in the back. Bending over, Penrith could see the exit wound in her stomach. She also had a frothy stain of blood that had run down her cheek. There was a bloody drag mark behind the Met officer's back and Penrith thought Boyd must have pulled himself over to where the doctor lay, to get closer to her, their blood mingled in the small space between them.

 

Penrith was drawn to Boyd's lifeless dark eyes, staring directly at his companion just as Foley's eyes were staring back at Boyd. Her hand was outstretched, grasping Boyd's, their fingers intertwined and the knuckles were all white, locking them together in a death grip. It was as if they hadn't wanted to let go so they'd always be together. It was some consolation to DSI Penrith that they survived long enough to have spoken because of frothy blood around their mouths, possibly to comfort each other, and they’d not died alone.

 

Penrith sighed and then got on with his job. "Tony, get Sarah to look at the CC TV ASAP. I need to speak to the Met."

 

Fin


End file.
